


Blink Twice and He's Gone

by WanderingBlindly



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, CEO Otabek, Clubbing, End Game Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Possibly End Game Viktor/Yuuri, Public Blow Jobs, Relationships to be added - Freeform, Scammer Yuri, Thief Yuri, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust, bartender yuri, for now, vaguely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-21 07:13:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12452319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingBlindly/pseuds/WanderingBlindly
Summary: The blond reached his other hand into the space between them, crooking a finger in a motion that even Otabek could understand in this state. The music drove him forward, the slow drive of the bass matching the slight sway of the blond’s hips on the table, or maybe it was just the swirling of his vision.“He’s bad news,” He heard the bartender say somewhere in the space that existed to his right. “You and your wallet better stay away from him.”Or: Young, successful CEO Otabek manages to fall into the manipulative, conniving hands of one Yuri Plisetsky. Feelings develop, but will they remain unrequited as Otabek pushes himself passed the facade Yuri puts up against the public?





	1. Are You Ok, Sweetie?

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in years, so be gentle, pretty pretty please!
> 
> I'm thinking of making this into a multi-chapter work, so please keep an eye out if you enjoyed it.
> 
> I also listened to "MOBB -- Full House" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yMBPLGzW1UI) the entire time that I wrote this fic, which kind of put me in the headspace to write Otabek's point of view. Check it out, it really sets the scene quite well if you ask me :)

The music was putting him in a trance, the smooth chorus soothing his ears and thumping his chest in a way that made the bouncing walls and floor of the club seem like some technicolor dream. Otabek closed and reopened his eyes, moving from the weaving and writhing pulse of the floor to the cool metal of the bar before he could even register what was happening. Time seemed to loop around itself in an intricate pattern, all sense of linearity falling and disintegrating with each hypnotic bass beat from the song blasting in his ears. There was a drink in his hands now, the color shifting from blue to purple to pink and back again, and he wasn’t quite sure it got there -- or how he got there, really. 

He looked up, blinking rapidly as the patrons around him seemed to come in and out of existence, the redhead swaying next to him exchanging for a brunette, a blonde, and a boxed blue-black with each flash of his eyelashes. Clenching his eyes and shaking his head, hoping to force in some sort of clarity from his alcohol and music induced hypnotism, Otabek felt himself lose his balance and leaned against the chilled surface of the bartop. When he finally felt together enough to reopen his eyes, he immediately honed in on a blond perched atop the bar with his drink accessorized, gracefully long arm high in the air above him as he cheered on with the music. Otabek tossed back his blue-purple-pink drink, the flavors on his tongue dancing between sweet and sour as his body struggled to make sense of any stimuli while his eyes drowned in the sight before him. 

The beautiful blonde, clad in skin tight leather pants and a cropped, distressed tank top, arched their back as they leaned closer to one of the patrons still standing on the floor, placing his finger under his chin to force his eyes up into his. His glossy, silken blond hair swung over his shoulder, exposing his long expanse of neck as he whispered something into the other man’s ear, the patron’s mouth going slightly slack as he nodded gently. As the blond removed his finger, sitting back up to toss back his drink with a long draw, the other man motioned to the bartender. 

 

Another blink, and it was all different.

 

Otabek’s drink was green, maybe it was red, and the blond had turned to look directly at him. The other patron was gone, the empty glass in the blond’s hand was somewhere out of sight (had it ever existed?), and his hypnotically green eyes glinted with something that a more mentally collected Otabek would have understood. He placed one hand on the bar, lowering his torso and shifting his hips so that he looked as if he would stalk his way towards Otabek any moment. The blond reached his other hand into the space between them, crooking a finger in a motion that even Otabek could understand in this state. The music drove him forward, the slow drive of the bass matching the slight sway of the blond’s hips on the table, or maybe it was just the swirling of his vision.

“He’s bad news,” He heard the bartender say somewhere in the space that existed to his right. “You and your wallet better stay away from him.” Maybe Otabek nodded, but he honestly didn’t understand the concept. 

 

Blink.

 

He was in between his legs, the endlessly long, leather clad legs that he vaguely remembered staring at at some moment in the past -- not that he really understood how long ago that was. The blond had wrapped them around his torso from his vantage point on the bar, and his long fingers had found their way into the long top of his hair, pulling his head back to stare up at him. Otabek swallowed thickly as he was looked up at the man in front of him, the colors filling the air swirling between violent shades of pink and purple that tinted his hair and shifted his emerald eyes to glistening jewels. His glossy pink lips, fuller at the top and naturally downturned at the corners, parted and his studded tongue flicked out to brush across his glittering front teeth. 

A wicked smile.

He leaned forward again, the arch of his back and the breath of his whisper spinning Otabek’s mind more than the music that seemed to endlessly loop between his ears. 

“Are you doing ok, sweetie?” his voice was sweet, the metal on his tongue surprisingly cold as it swept across the shell of his ear -- or maybe it was just his senses stuttering under the pressure. The hands still tangled in his hair moved towards the nape of his neck, the lean legs tangled around his torso pulling him ever closer as the blond shifted his hips to be closer to the edge of the bar. 

“Who are you?” The voice coming from Otabek’s throat sounded foreign, the thrumming distorting it and making it seem as if he had imagined saying anything at all. 

“Whoever you want me to be, honey,” The blonde purred back, the hands at his nape massaging gently and his mouth grazing along the sharp cut of his jawline. It felt like his entire body was on fire, the sensations of touch dancing along parts of his body that the blond neglected -- and he was sure that his mind was short circuiting. 

 

Blink.

 

“Are you doing ok, sweetie?”

 

Blink.

 

All he saw were glistening eyes, the too pink lips and too bright teeth no longer visible to him at such a close distance. There were hands at his shoulders, and something hard pressing against his back. The colors were different, the music reverberating somewhere that felt distinctly removed from him, and the sensations against his body felt much more present. 

“There you are, you came back to me,” the voice sounded sweet, almost endearing, as if coming from someone that had loved him for years -- and maybe it had been that long since Otabek had found himself between his legs at the bar. The hands shifted up from his shoulders to his jaw, tilting his head down to press his parted lips to the full pout he had ogled maybe moments, years, or seconds ago. His hands seemed to move of their own accord into the silken hair that had flashed colors in the light of the club, registering just as soft between his fingers as his blurred mind had possibly imagined. There was a pressure that slotted itself between his thighs as he lost track of his mind in the plush sensations running against his tongue.  

 

Sharpness.

 

There was a sharp press up against his crotch, a sharp nip of hungry teeth at his lips, and a sharp press of rock against his back. 

 

_ Ah, I’m outside _ , Otabek realized as his hips twitched forward, chasing the sensation that the blond was stirring within him. He whimpered softly as he felt the soft brush of metal against his own tongue, his breath hitching further as the blond’s thigh dragged itself slowly against his crotch. 

“So pretty for me,” There was a purring against his lips, and Otabek’s eyes shot open, although he wasn’t quite sure when they had closed. “Tell me what you want, baby,” That pouty pink mouth whispered against his neck, the cold metal against his veins making him shiver and the shiver-induced friction making him whine helplessly. He didn’t know what he wanted, he didn’t know where he was, he didn’t even know who he was, he just knew he wanted whatever the fuck was going on right now. 

 

Blink.

 

Long fingers had slid their way up his shirt. 

 

Blink. 

 

Long hair had found its way between his fingertips, and long legs had folded themselves down to the ground. Those long fingers quickly undid the button of his jeans and slid down the zipper with ease, and it was then that he comprehended that the thigh against his crotch had left him. He tightened his grasp on the fine golden strands at the realization, a sense of need filling every ounce of his haze-filled being. 

“I’m going to make you feel all better, ok?” 

 

Blink.

 

His pants were down, and electric eyes glanced up at him as he felt an endless sensation of falling. The air from his lungs left in a rapid exhale, and he felt like every organ in his body had been crushed under the weight of indescribable heat. A deft tongue swept along the underside of his cock as the blond moved downward, the warmth and suction seemingly endless as he took him all into his throat. Those eyes continued to look up at him, electric and taunting as he swirled across his slit, driving him within an inch of his sanity -- and life. 

His knees felt weak.

His hands shook in their stronghold.

The blond hummed in contentment as Otabek’s fingers struggled to maintain their grip in his hair, his hands slipping into the pockets of the jeans that hung slack around the other man’s thighs as his tongue continued to work him towards his release. He swallowed, flexing his previously relaxed throat in a way that even the strongest, straightest of men couldn’t handle. 

Blink. 

 

“Sleep well, honey,”

 

Blink.

 

The lights were a bright, warmed yellow behind his eyelids. There were soft sheets tangled between his legs and pressed against his face, but the press of the pillow against his head seemed wrong. The sound of doors closing in the distance seemed wrong. The sound of an elevator dining seemed wrong. 

His eyes flew open, revealing an unfamiliar hotel room. The events of the night before, distorted, blurred, and looping played in the back of his mind as he tried to jump out of the bed towards his pile of clothes on the floor. His fingers found their way to the back of his pants -- empty.

His eyes flashed towards the nightstand -- empty.

He spotted the familiar black leather wallet resting on the chair by the window, and he dove towards it with a frantic heartbeat and a sense of dread lingering in the back of his groggy mind. 

His cash was gone, credit and debit cards were missing, and his small stack of business cards were nowhere. It was empty, save for a small note. 

  
  


“Thanks for the night, it was lovely <3”

 


	2. Flameware

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected meetings in recently discovered locations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I'm actually really enjoying the writing process here, so I hope that you find even half as much enjoyment in reading it! Feel free to leave comments, thoughts, ideas, or whatever in the comments :)

“So do you think he drugged you?” JJ asked, his tone suggesting that it was just a topic of passing interest to him, punctuated by the way that he continued to spin in that leather chair of his. For such an irritatingly serious topic, JJ’s blase nature somehow seemed appropriate. After all, the whole thing just seemed like the strangest fever dream, one that shouldn’t be validated with more than a second’s worth of thought. 

All the calls that he had to make to the credit card companies, however, clearly indicated that this was far from a fever dream. Maybe a feverish hell, but he supposed that was a line of contemplation for a later date. 

“No, I was definitely already really out of it when I saw him the first time,” Otabek sighed, rubbing his hand over his face in exasperation. Relaying the information to his friend wasn’t helping, the memories were still too fuzzy and sporadic, and running over them for the thousandth time in two days wasn’t going to make them into anything more useful. “I probably got too drunk too fast, you know?” JJ hummed in agreement as he continued to spin, looking up at the ceiling with vacant eyes. 

“You already canceled your cards and all that, are you sure it’s even worth your time to try and find him again?” It was a fair question, surprisingly so considering the airhead that it came from, but Otabek supposed you didn’t become relatively successful without having at least fleeting moments of intelligence.  And yet, for such a fair question, Otabek couldn’t give an equally fair answer. He knew that there should have been a bigger, more logical part of his brain telling him to give up and cut his losses, but there wasn’t. Every part of his conscious was telling him to keep searching, to go after the blond that he caught flashes of when he closed his eyes, to find something more solid about that night to grab between his fingers. 

Sitting there in his office, overlooking the hustle and bustle of the sleepless city below him, Otabek realized that he didn’t want to let go of whatever had happened last weekend. It was a self destructive, pointless, and fruitless endeavor, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that he wanted to give up. 

“I know, I know… but something keeps telling me it’s worth it, man.” Otabek finally replied, expressing his recently coined inner turmoil to his closest friend. The constant spinning stopped for a brief moment, and JJ looked at him with his ridiculous eyebrows raised. 

“And that something is your dick, I’m assuming.” 

It should have been funny, it should have just been a joke, but Otabek couldn’t bring himself to laugh. JJ, for all his idiocy and lunacy, was oddly on the nose today. Otabek rested his elbows on his table, propping his chin up on his palms and staring at JJ.

“Please just tell me how crazy I am,” It was a pointless plea, because Otabek already knew that he was being absurd. He wanted to chase after a man that had robbed him, seduced him in a club,  _ not  _ because he wanted to get some sort of vindication. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, but you already know that,” And yet again, by the grace of God, JJ was right for the third time in a single conversation. He released a deep sigh, closing his eyes in resignation. There was a slight knocking on the door, a rhythm that usually indicated his secretary’s presence. 

“Come in, Mila. We’re not busy,” He called, sitting up to adjust his tie out of habit as Mila slowly opened the office door. She tucked her shoulder length hair behind her ear, a sign that Otabek had learned to read as nervousness or uncertainty in their short time together. Mila was new, but she was already showing much more promise than his previous secretary. “So, what’s up?” He took a casual tone, hoping to both soothe the slightly antsy redhead as she stepped softly into the room and defuse the potentially tense air that remained after his and JJ’s conversation. 

“I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Katsuki would like to move his scheduled meeting up from Friday to tomorrow, if that’s possible. But it sounded less like an “if that’s possible” and more of a “no excuses, do it”, sort of request.” Otabek breathed a sigh of relief, much more content with that answer than something truly disastrous.

“No worries at all Mila, please let him know that we can accommodate him tomorrow. Clear a space in my schedule and let him know that I will email him a rough meeting-agenda by this evening.” He was relatively certain that his team had completed much of the industry research and market analysis for Katsuki’s developing gaming startup, but he would have to send out a quick blast to his team to alert them of the expedited deadline. “Actually, Mila,” He added as his secretary turned and walked towards the door, prompting her to face him once more with a receptively inquisitive look. “Would you please let the analytics team know about the new meeting date? Have them send me what they’ve compiled, ASAP. Thanks.” She just responded with a slight nod of the head before turning back for the door. There was a soft click indicating that him and JJ were alone once again. 

“God, that Katsuki is such a demanding ass,” JJ scoffed, returning back to his spinning from before.    

“Tell me about it. Now I have to plan an entire introductory meeting today and start putting together a design team,” He rolled his eyes as he flipped open the laptop that he kept on his desk. 

“Well I’ll let you get back to being a fun-loving CEO, just think about what we talked about earlier, ok? With your head this time,” JJ laughed, pushing himself up from his plush seat and moving towards the door. “Oh, and we should go get drinks or something tomorrow night, celebrate a successful meeting.” 

“Yea, that sounds good. I’ll text you later, ok?” JJ just hummed in the affirmative as he opened up the door, closing it with a soft click. Otabek groaned and leaned back in his chair after opening up his email, ready to blast out an alert to his graphic designers of their future task with Katsuki. 

 

It was going to be a long,  _ long _ , fucking day. 

 

\--------------------

 

It had, indeed, been a long,  _ long _ , fucking day, and Otabek was just endlessly thankful that it was finally over. Gathering up his things and sparing a glance towards the clock on the wall, registering somewhere in the back of his head that it was just shy of 11 pm, Otabek finally moved towards his office door. 

He stepped out into a dark office, all of the staff having left hours ago. Although following suit and going home sounded like a nice idea on the surface, Otabek had a sinking suspicion that going back to his apartment would just lead to another endless night of mental gymnastics and poor attempts at trying to piece together the events of his weekend. As he waited for the elevator to reach his floor, Otabek contemplated his options. He could call JJ, even though he already had plans with him the next day. Or he could go out drinking with Viktor, he supposed. He always lent a sympathetic ear, and drinking with a no-tolerance Russian that claimed he was a world-class drinker always lightened the mood. 

He had options, he knew he did, and yet he just wanted to go drinking alone tonight. Sitting in a quiet, out of the way bar with a sipping whiskey sounded like a better plan than anything else he’d thought of thus far, so he decided to go with it. As the elevator pinged, opening it’s doors to the main lobby, Otabek made up his mind. Thankful that he didn’t drive into work today, he stepped into the brisk fall night with a shudder of his shoulders. 

Otabek couldn’t be bothered with the irritating process of calling up one of the few cabs in Seattle, so he decided to try his luck at exploring the area around his office. Surprisingly, considering that he had been located there for quite a while, he was relatively unaware of what the neighborhood had to offer; Most of his nightlife meetings with his clients were somewhere central to their respective offices, usually taking him closer to the waterfront.

After about 20 minutes of aimlessly wandering, Otabek found the exact type of bar that he wanted.  _ Flameware _ was small, a short brick building wedged between two towering skyscrapers that glistened from the mix of streetlights and residual rain on the windowpanes. Pushing hard against the heavy, wood-framed door, Otabek found himself immediately enveloped in a warm, soothing atmosphere of hot air and gentle lo-fi music on loop. 

The bar seemed simultaneously larger yet homier on the inside than it did on the outside, decorated in warm, rich tones. A large fireplace blazed along the leftmost wall, casting the bar in a warm orange glow and filling it with a soft heat the seeped into the deepest part of his bones. There were four large chairs with high, winged backs and worn-leather upholstery before it, filling the transitional space between the fireplace and the bar. The bar was made of a rich wood, the top slightly unfinished in a way that could either read pretentiously trendy or authentically rustic. Dangling above the barstool seats were hanging lights, emitting a warm orange glow that further tinted the bar in a fiery atmosphere. It was almost an odd mix of a coffee shop with a underappreciated speakeasy. He turned his attention towards the patrons, or rather patron, and the bartender.

 

His heart stopped dead in his throat. 

 

Leaning against the bar, with his black button-down clad elbow on the unfinished surface of the bar, was a certain blond. The singular blond that flashed in unfinished memories across the rushed scenes of his dreams. The blond who’s eyes appeared before his own, dropping to his knees the next second. The blond that disappears within the blink of an eye.

Leaning against the bar, hair long hair tied back elegantly against the nape of his long neck and waist defined by the sharp taper of his black vest, was the blond that had tried to rob him for all he was worth. 

Otabek heard him chuckle smoothly at something the patron had said, the sound accompanied by the shifting of his eyes towards the sound of the door slowly swinging shut behind him. Those emerald eyes flashed with recognition, though not widening visibly like Otabek’s likely had. 

“Welcome to  _ Flameware _ , honey. What can I get you?” That same voice, dripping in false endearments with a soft curve of those full lips.  _ Sweetie, honey _ . The sugarcoated terms of affection replayed in his ears, seeming to swim around in his head, floating on the high of spiking adrenaline. Otabek remained unresponsive, not moving from his spot in front of the doorway. “Just let me know when you’re ready, ok?”  _ I’m going to make you feel all better, ok? _ The words seemed fresh against his skin, and he could almost feel the breath that he had desperately tried to wash off in that unfamiliar hotel room. With a mindless nod, Otabek moved towards the leather seats instead of the bar. 

Otabek knew all the answers when he was at work, he knew all the right things to say when Mila came in with revised deadlines and bad news, and yet he was utterly clueless as to what he should do now. He placed his messenger bag on the floor next to him and sat gingerly in the fireplace warmed chair, sinking easily into its welcoming depths. What was the protocol for confronting the man that you both hated and obsessed over? 

The scraping of a chair pulled Otabek out of his reverie, and he looked up to see the blond smiling sweetly at the patron that stood up and tossed a bill onto the bar top. 

“I’ll see you later, won’t I, Yuuri?” The name almost fell off his lips, the exaggerated draw of the soft syllables enchanting. He leaned back against the bar, turning his head so that his heavily decorated ear was available to the other man. He leaned in, whispering something into the bartender’s ear that made him giggle, before nodding in farewell. Otabek watched the whole exchange with an uncomfortable mix of jealousy and anxiety making a home in the pit of his stomach.  

The familiar sound of the heavy wooden doors closing rung through the air, and those knots in his stomach grew heavy enough to trap him in his chair. There was the distinct pressing sound of expensive shoes on the wood and rug covered floor, yet Otabek couldn’t tear his eyes away from the fireplace that seemed to offer him some source of solidity. 

 

There was a weight at his feet, and he couldn’t help but look towards its source. 

 

That blond, his hair pulled away from his angelic face and his sparkling eyes burning amber-green in the warm orange light of the empty bar, sat with his legs tucked under him at his feet. The silver and diamonds decorating his ears glistened in the golden light, making him appear elven, ethereal, and Otabek couldn’t bring himself to blink as his long fingers teased their way up his calves and towards his thighs, lest he should disappear again. He was a minx, the well-traveled confidence of his fingers told him so. He gripped his thighs tightly as he raised himself to his knees, bringing himself up to Otabek’s wide eyes. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Altin?” He whispered, his breath seeming cool against his overheated expanse of his skin. 

“Who are you?” He found himself asking, repeating the question that some part of him had asked just a few days ago. There was the mischievous glint in his eyes again, the cat-like flashing of warm flames against jeweled green sending a shock of awe and fear through Otabek’s heart. 

“You can call me Yura if you want, I don’t mind,” His voice was deceptively coy, those mesmerizing eyes flashing downwards, splaying his thick lashes out against the pale skin of his cheeks. 

“Is that your real name?” Otabek already knew that answer before he asked, and yet he just had to see if he was right. He wanted to believe that this man, Yura, would treat him differently than the others that he  _ knew  _ he strung along as well. 

“If you want it to be, baby.” And he wanted, oh  _ God _ , how he wanted. Otabek wanted to reach out and grab those delicate shoulders and pull Yura onto his lap. He wanted to feel the soft, warm press of those downturned lips against his again. He wanted to taste that metal along his tongue again. He wanted Yura to build him up just to tear him down again, and he couldn’t help it. Otabek, who worked his whole life to answer to no one, found himself willing to drop to his knees and pray for a single glance from the man before him. “Have you figured out what I can get you yet?” The words carried so much more weight than they did before, but maybe that was just the endlessly hopeful place in Otabek’s mind making itself known. Those soft hands and gentle fingers moved up from his thighs to caress the sharp line of his jaw. 

If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that it was the touch of someone kinder, someone touching him with gentler intentions. 

“Anything bottled.” There was a soft laugh, hardly anything more than a rushed exhale of breath, but Otabek found himself desperately clinging to the intimacy of it. He tilted his head up as the blond stood to his feet, in awe of the beautiful body that was once again on display for him. 

“What, you don’t trust me?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement of fact, said in passing as he turned to walk back towards the bar. 

“Would you?” Otabek replied calmly, the tone of his question lacking the judgement or aggression that it should ooze. He watched as Yura moved away from him, drinking in the narrow build of his frame and the sway of his hips. Dressed in all black, with his waist defined by the tight cinch of his vest and his forearms exposed from the rolled up sleeves of his button-down, Otabek thought that he had never seen someone more enchanting. 

“Hmm, I always liked boys with brains,” Otabek heard the clanking of heavy glass bottles and thinner drinking glasses before Yura returned back to the fireplace, choosing the chair opposite Otabek. With practiced hands, he set down a still sealed bottle of red wine, two glasses, and an opener on the worn-wood coffee table between them. There should have been warning signs flashing in his mind, brighter than the neons of the city lights, and yet all Otabek could see were the delicate twists and turns of Yura’s wrists as he popped open the bottle and poured them two full glasses of aromatic heaven. “Now tell me, honey,” Yura started as he handed Otabek his glass, the graze of his fingers against his own making him drunker than any wine could, “What can I  _ really _ get you?”

Yura leaned back in his chair and crossed his endless legs, the high wings of its backing and the warm, crackling glow dancing across his alabaster skin giving Otabek the feeling that he was making a deal with the devil. And perhaps he was, but his endless desire pushed him forward into the fire-dipped, alcohol flavored, lust driven abyss. Yura’s lips curved into a delicious smile against the edge of his glass as he took a delicate sip, anticipating the answer that he had cornered Otabek into.  

“You.”


	3. Sleepless in Seattle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clearly, there was a lot more to Yura than he let on, even though Otabek had immediately understood that he wasn’t the only one caught between those long, manipulative fingers.
> 
> How had Yura ended up at his business meeting? What exactly was his relationship with Katsuki Yuuri? Who are the other men? How many other men?
> 
> Who bought him that goddamn suit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a moderately uneventful chapter, but I suppose they're occasionally necessary to move the story forward. Look forward to next chapter, I'm thinking I may have to bump the rating up if all goes to plan ;)
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO can I just say how much I love the idea that Otabek is a some succulent loving bookworm? Because I really do. Really, really do. But maybe that's just the Seattle in me, we're really into succulents apparently.

It was raining.

It was always raining in this godforsaken city, just a constant drizzle that left the hairs at the nape of your neck standing at full attention. He could hear it falling against his windows as he tried to stare up at the ceiling he knew was somewhere up above him in the blackness. Seattle’s drizzles always provided him with an odd sense of security, lulling him into a world where everything was as it always was, would always be, and as he always knew. And yet, tucked into his bed at who knows when in the morning, the room seeming to spin despite his stillness, Otabek knew that every promise the rain poured into his heart was fake.

  
  


_ They had finished the bottle of wine, the bar remaining empty and Yura remaining frustratingly calm despite the alcohol that had to be distorting some part of his cool, collected persona.  _

_ “I don’t usually do recurring visits hun, but you can come by the bar whenever you want,” He couldn’t tell if the churning in his stomach was the consequences of the alcohol or a physical response to Yura’s deceptively soothing words. Otabek had tried his best to smother the words the second they came into his ears, refusing to acknowledge what he had already known in the back of his mind: he wasn’t the only one, and he definitely wasn’t special. _

_ “Do you usually leave men in hotels, then?” It was meant to be a question that inspired some sort of change, revealed some sort of uniquity to his and Yura’s relationship (but oh God, could he even call it that?). Yura had flashed him another one of those dangerous smiles, almost elven and sharp against the smooth curve of his wineglass.   _

_ “Yes,” _

 

The bluntness of Yura’s words echoed against the walls of his bedroom, whispered in between the patters of rain on his windows and living in the silences between his breaths. Otabek had left soon after, the realizations that he had work the next day and that he wasn’t getting any further with Yura the drunker he became driving him up from the warmed leather seat. 

 

_ “So where can we go from here?” It was desperate, even drunk he could tell that it was pathetic. Even though the hours they had spent together seemed lovely from the outside, drenched in a warm glow, accented by whispered respones over the brims of glasses, he could tell that it was all a rouse. Yura was happily toying with him, the embarrassing amount of his money sitting in his bank driving him forward.  _

_ “The wine was on you.” The response was deflective, ignoring the question that Otabek had pushed towards him. Yura stood up once more, collecting the now empty bottle with one hand and gently lifting the empty glass from Otabek’s fingers. “Goodnight, Mr. Altin,” He finished with a wink, walking towards the bar with a sense of finality.  _

 

Otabek groaned, rubbing his sleepless eyes with the palm of his hands. As he rolled over in his too-big, too-empty bed and reached out blindly for his bedside lamp, Otabek could tell that he was still drunk. Every motion felt too slow and yet too fast at the same time, the illumination coming from his successful reaching making him wince and hide his eyes in his arm. There was no hope for sleep tonight, just like there often wasn’t for Otabek. After years and years of unwilling sleep deprivation, however, he at least knew how to cope. 

He flipped his legs over the side of the bed, slipping his feet into the soft slippers that awaited him, perfectly placed like past-Otabek always managed to do. Sleepless Seattle nights -- the thought made Otabek scoff a bit, it was too cliche -- were always best soothed by hot tea and books, in his opinion.Throwing one of the soft blankets from his bed over his shoulders, he shuffled slowly towards the kitchen, moving carefully and well within the limits of his inebriated abilities.  Emerging from his bedroom, much like a confused hermit, Otabek glanced between the darkened kitchen and window-illuminated living space. He decided that perhaps dealing with hot water was a dangerous task left for a sober day and slowly meandered towards the small nook of heaven that he had crafted over the years. 

The walls of his livingroom were nearly all windows, the glass decorated by trails of rain and accented with billowing plumes of soft grey organza drapes. In the furthermost corner of the apartment, one that jutted out at a strange, borderline nonfunctional angle, was Otabek’s realm of reclusion. He had installed a long  window seat, adorned with plush pillows and soft throws that allowed him to look out into the city that thrived stories and stories below him. The nearest wall was masked by two large bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Deep in color, they seemed ready to burst with tattered spines, well-worn after countless rereads, stiff novels that were Otabek’s guilty pleasure impulse purchases, and thin volumes of delicate novelas that he managed to find at one corner bookstore or another. 

His entire apartment was filled with dustings of books; a dogeared volume on his coffee table, stacked upon his most recent reread; two books on his nightstand, another one tucked under his desk lamp and yet another in the empty space atop his bed sheets; a volume in the kitchen, one accidentally left in a cupboard that had been left behind in a moment of forgetfulness in the midst of his latest cooking attempt. Pulling the blanket he held around his shoulders tighter, Otabek reached out with his other hand and brushed across the spines that he knew so well, stopping at one of his many favorites:  _ To the Lighthouse _ . For some reason, the constant flow of words across the pages, not all making sense and yet each carrying a meaning larger than any whole novel, was the right kind of mind numbing for the moment. 

Otabek settled in to read, resting his head against the rain-chilled window and snuggling into the pool of pillows and blankets. Eventually his eyelids fell heavy, the rain against his ears once again lulling him into a false sense of security, and sleep swept his overworked mind into the world of ease.

 

\--------------------

 

As often was the case, Otabek was running on coffee. His head was still slightly fuzzy from the late, alcohol filled night. He rested his elbows on his desk, hanging his head in his hands as he mentally proclaimed that he was getting much too old for such long nights (at the ripe old age of 26, clearly). There was the signature knock against his office door, signaling Mila’s imminent arrival. 

“Your meeting starts in 15, Mr. Altin,” He had no idea how often he would need to tell her that Otabek was fine, especially now that ‘Mr. Altin’ made him reflect on  _ other _ affairs, but he figured that as she grew more comfortable she would come around. 

“Thanks, Mila. I’ll be down in a moment,” She simply nodded in acknowledgement before turning back to return to her desk, the sound of a phone ringing shrilly in the background drawing her back quickly. 

The meeting would go smoothly, that wasn’t much of a concern. He knew that his team had done their part and that they had all the information to open up a potential long-term relationship with the up and coming gaming mogul, but it was just a question of whether or not he could stay awake.  Otabek spared a glance at his watch as he sat down in the nearly empty boardroom, save for the head of his analytics team that he had requested attend and present. Katsuki would be due to arrive any minute, and the sooner the better; a timely, smooth meeting meant that Otabek could take a nap in his office during his lunch break sooner. He turned his attention towards the door as he heard the handle turn, quickly standing in preparation for introductions. It was his first time meeting the Japanese businessman, but if his vague and minimal knowledge of Japanese culture told him anything, it was that first impressions were vital. 

Immediately he noticed a dark head of hair enter the room, slicked back and highly visible, considering the owner had his head tilted down towards the floor with his eyes downcast. Otabek thought that he looked vaguely familiar, which was interesting because this was their first interaction outside of email, phone calls, and messages left between secretaries. He thoughts were cut short as the next body entered the room, a body that, for once, Otabek wasn’t entirely too thrilled to see. 

Standing up tall in a black, extremely slim cut suit was none other than Yura. His hair hung straight and tidy around his shoulders, one side tucked behind his unusually bare ear. The expression on his face was hardly there, but Otabek had spent long enough remembering the details that he could spot the miniscule quirk of his left brow a mile away, catching it before it settled back into its neutral position. 

“Mr. Katsuki, it’s a pleasure to finally meet in person,” Otabek began, his voice slipping comfortably into his business tone without thought, thankful that years of such introductory meetings had beaten some sort of muscle-memory into him. He took a few steps towards the door, where the Japanese man stood with his head now raised. As he extended his hand for a handshake, he realized that Katsuki must have been the man in the bar that night, even though his hair looked so different from that night (Yuuri? Is that the name that Yura had said that night?). 

“Likewise, Mr. Altin. Thank you again for accommodating us today, my schedule is a bit… difficult to predict, at the moment,” Katsuki replied cooly as he met his hand halfway, embracing him in a handshake that seemed ever so slightly hesitant, standing in stark contrast to the practiced confidence in his voice. Otabek chalked it up to a cultural difference, wondering if the other man would have been more agreeable to skipping the Western business practice all together. 

“It was our pleasure, start up schedules aren’t exactly easy to work with. We completely understand,” Otabek took a step back, motioning towards his employee that sat on the other side of the table. “This is Leo, head of our Market Analytics department. He will be assisting us with the meeting today. If you’d have a seat here,” He pulled out a seat for Katsuki and another for Yura, not making eye contact with the blond that he could feel boring holes into the side of his head with those sharp green eyes, “we can get today started and finish on time for the both of us.” Katsuki nodded at him, murmuring a quiet thank you as he took his seat. Otabek moved to sit next to Leo, nodding to indicate that the meeting could begin and switching on the recorder in the center of the table. 

Otabek was eternally grateful that he had the forethought to ask Leo to attend, because as soon as he said his opening line and opened the presentation, he couldn’t focus. Yura was sitting directly across from him, his elbows propped up on the table and head resting delicately against the tops of his long, pale hands. Katsuki seemed engrossed in Leo’s presentations, occasionally asking questions about terminology or graphics, but Otabek could only listen enough to respond in case spoken to. There was that knowing glint, flashing briefly in Otabek’s direction before he turned his head slightly to whisper in Katsuki’s ear. 

He heard Leo wrapping up his brief section on the segmentation methods of comparable companies, explaining which companies would likely be market substitutes for Katsuki’s brand. His eyes switched from watching the elongated curve of Yura’s neck to analyze Katsuki’s face, trying to read how perceptive he was to Leo’s pitch. It appeared positive, his body language was open but still slightly stiff, his brows had relaxed to a more natural position compared to the slight furrow when he walked in. The meeting continued to breeze by, Yura occasionally whispering something quickly into Katsuki’s ear and Otabek occasionally answering a question that was slightly out of Leo’s realm of specialty. After about an hour and a half, nearly ending exactly on schedule, Leo reached the end of his discussion and returned to his seat at the table. 

“Are there any further questions, Mr. Katsuki? Or shall we move onto discussing a contract?” Otabek knew it was forward, but he had a feeling that Katsuki would dance around the subject all day if he didn’t force him into a bit of a corner. 

“I would like a day to consider and work through my terms, would that be alright? I will send you an email by the end of the day tomorrow with the details and have my legal contact yours?” He responded as he stood from the table, and Otabek followed suit. 

“Of course, I’ll have my secretary send you the presentation information for your reference.” He plastered on his tight, business smile that he knew was always well-received as he walked towards the door, meeting Katsuki at the end of the desk. “It was a pleasure, we look forward to doing business with you,” Again, it was a bit forward and presumptuous, but Otabek hadn’t become a professional in marketing without knowing the right things to say at the right time. 

“Thank you for the informative meeting, I appreciate the brevity. You know how these things can be sometimes,” There was a slight crack in Katsuki’s serious demeanor, a light warming behind his dark eyes as he extended the opportunity for shared experience. Otabek knew he had him between his fingers.

“Don’t we all, and it’s always the accounting department! They’re probably just thankful for the human interaction.” He flashed his winning smile, punching his fist internally as Katsuki chuckled lightly at his joke (internally he lamented at how forced and boring business humor was). As he spoke he opened the door, motioning for Katsuki and his associate to exit the room first, followed by him and Leo. “My secretary will show you out, if that’s all you need from us today, Mr. Katsuki,” The other nodded again, his upper body slightly bending at the hips in a brief bow.

“I believe we’re set, thank you again for your time. We’ll be in touch,” Sensing the end of the conversation, Mila rose from her desk on the other side of the entrance hall and gracefully paced over towards Katsuki and Yura. She murmured gently that she would be happy to escort them out, flashing a soft smile that Otabek could tell put Katsuki further at ease but made Yura’s eyebrows furrow ever so slightly. His electric eyes moved up and down her body quickly, once, twice, three times before he quickly looked away. 

There was that angry scratch of jealousy again, clawing angrily at the inside of Otabek’s stomach as he watch Yura observe Mila. 

As the three walked towards the elevator and Leo walked back into the boardroom, saying something about forgetting to shutdown the computer, Otabek stood and watched properly for the first time today. The suit fit Yura exquisitely, and he absently wondered if Katsuki bought it for him, or if perhaps he bought it with the money that he had taken from Otabek (there was something in the back of his head that longed for it to be the second one, even though he couldn't bring himself to recognize it). The tapered fit of pants made his legs look endlessly long, the well fit jacket accentuated the gentle curve of his waist, almost making him look effeminate. The cuffs of his jacket hit just in the right place, the slight rise and fall as he swung his arms in motion exposing the extremely delicate wrists that drove Otabek crazy for some reason. 

As the trio stopped before the elevator, Mila pressing the down call button, Yura turned his head slightly and made quick eye contact with Otabek, closing one eye in a wink so quick that he could have easily missed it.

But he didn’t, and his heart raced until Katsuki and Yura stepped into the elevator, the door closing before Yura could turn around and face him again. 

 

\--------------------

 

Otabek’s mind was still racing when he returned home for the evening, bouncing back and forth between “what if’s” and “I wonder why’s” as he walked from his building’s garage to his elevator, persisting even as he entered his apartment. Clearly, there was a lot more to Yura than he let on, even though Otabek had immediately understood that he wasn’t the only one caught between those long, manipulative fingers. 

How had Yura ended up at his business meeting? What exactly was his relationship with Katsuki Yuuri? Who are the other men? How many other men?

Who bought him that goddamn suit? 

 

Even Otabek understood that his priorities were wrong, as they tended to be as of late, but that that wasn’t his biggest issue. Instead of caring about the details of his job, or what would happen now that Yura had breached the personal boundary line they had been toeing, Otabek couldn’t stop wondering who was paying for Yura. Who paid for all those piercings? Who paid for his nights out at the bar and the clothes for the different roles he seemed to play? 

He continued to muse, not likely to find anything other than frustration as a result, as he tossed his suit jacket onto a barstool and moved into the kitchen. As he filled up a small cup with water, he considered the deeper implications of Yura’s visit into his office today. From what he could tell, there were two likely outcomes from this: either Yura is just an aid to Katsuki and nothing more, or Yura is crafting some sort of plan to extort both of them. Otabek began pacing around the open expanse of his apartment, emptying small amounts of water into each of his small potted plants. Yura was likely going to try and come after him at work, that much he could be sure of, at least for now.

  
And oh _god_ how he hoped he was right. 


End file.
